


mejor morir parado que vivir arrodillado

by lethargicProfessor



Series: tintype afterimage [1]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: For reasons, Gen, a winters introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winters was told he would be able to return home with his freedom once the war was over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mejor morir parado que vivir arrodillado

Winters was told he would be able to return home with his freedom once the war was over.

It was a promise made by the second recruiter from the Order, after the first met an untimely end at his hands.   _A full pardon_ , the man had said, trembling like a leaf before the barred cell, _and a guarantee to return to Mexico after the war_.

Winters had laughed, harder than he had in years. The guards surrounding his cell fussed uneasily, weapons drawn warily as the inmate continued to laugh.

He wasn’t a stupid man, despite what some of his guards seemed to believe. He knew full well the Order and the Church and whoever else was in charge would never let him leave. He would die in battle, or die by their hands. Either way, he wouldn’t be seeing his motherland again.

Which suited him fine, frankly. He was intimate with death, and the threat of it always loomed around the corner. He much preferred to die in a fight than by firing squad.

At least in a fight he was able to take someone out with him.

So he agreed to be the Church’s dog, and relished the feeling of freedom outside his cell.

* * *

There were only two things Winters missed from home: the tequila, and the food.

He could live without the latter, but the former was a point of contention between himself and the Order. They refused to import it, which in turn pissed him off. There were more than a few messengers who felt the brunt of his fury, until Cross Marian stepped in to settle the argument.

“You just have to know how to ask nicely,” the red-haired man had told him earnestly, the bottle of tequila catching the light in his hands.

“ _Chinga_ _tu_ _madre_ ,” Winters had responded, taking the bottle before slamming the door in his face.

Subsequent bottles came with the agreement that he would share at least a drink with the provider. It could have been worse; Cross wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t being obnoxious.

One afternoon, Tiedoll’s boy delivered the bottle, a scowl on his tiny face. Winters could have crushed him under his boot, but something about the boy caught his attention.

“Do you drink?” He asked, taking the bottle from his hands.

The boy’s scowl dipped, brows furrowed as he gazed up at the general in confusion. “What?”

“Drink with me,” the general ordered, holding the door open wide enough for the boy to slip in. “It’s custom.”

Winters sneered as the boy steeled himself, marching in with his chin held high. Tiedoll was going to shit bricks; that alone made it worth it.

(It turned out the kid could not get drunk. He didn’t know that, but it was certainly an experience trying to get him there. And if it got him a less annoying drinking companion, then all the better.)


End file.
